Lips of Golden Lace
by Lufthexe
Summary: During a journey to Svartálfaheimr, a wager is made, and punishment is exacted. Even if the inteded isn't the recipient. Rated for mature content, slight gore. LokiSif
1. Chapter 1

Sif woke as the dawn light filtered in through the drapery; limbs stretching lazily and drowsy eyes cracking open. However, the arm stretched across her abdomen remained motionless, its owner still oblivious to the break of daylight. Sif turned, facing the prince who slept so soundly amongst her blankets. She pushed his long locks away from his face gently, letting him rest before she kicked him out of her bed. He had a bad penchant for staying up until all hours of the night; and when he would wearily slip into her chambers and crawl into her bed she was usually too exhausted to be angry at him. Later he would sometimes claim that her chambers were simply closer to the library, but Sif knew that was not the reason he chose to sleep there.  
Sif prodded his leg, watching the rise and fall of his chest to see if he woke. But his breathing remained deep and slow. Either he slept deeply, or he was up to his usual mischief; seeing what she would do to get him to stir. Rolling her eyes, Sif rolled on top of him, straddling the prince's ass as she grabbed her pillow and pressed it to the side of his face visible, smothering him.

Sif counted seventeen seconds before he woke flailing, his long limbs moving erratically before he pushed up off the bed, dumping her off of him and rolling over on top of her to trap Sif's wrists beneath his own. His green eyes flashed dangerously, his dark hair mussed and curled in every direction. "And what, pray tell, have I done to so provoke the Lady Sif's ire so early yet?" He said darkly, pressing himself against her as she grinned at him evilly.

"My dear Loki sleeps away half the morning", she responded, struggling lightly against his hands. His gaze darkened, and he leaned in, catching her bottom lip with his teeth and bit down sharply enough for her to kick him in the shin, his usual grin plastering his face as he rolled away from her. "Ass," she swore, fingering her swollen lip lightly and punching him in the arm. Loki only smirked, standing to gather his robes from the floor.

"Coming to the sparring grounds with me?" Sif questioned, pulling on a tunic and leggings.

"Perphaps later," he said silkily, sliding on his boots and eyeing her as she slid on her sparring garments.

"You're only afraid I'd beat you to a pulp," she challenged, grinning as she stuck a foot out to trip him as he strode past her. Dancing around her limbs easily, Loki only chuckled, sticking a few of his throwing knives back into his tunic.

"As if you could catch me, my dear Sif."

Her eyes flashed, and she lunged at him, almost making contact before his body flashed out of existence, and Sif quickly shouldered a roll, turning in a crouch to face a smiling god of mischief, perched upon the edge of her bed.

"Why do I put up with you," she wondered aloud, glaring at him.

His expression softened, and he came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he whispered warmly in her ear, "because I'm the only one who can keep your interest," and Sif knew his words were true. Many men could challenge her on the battlefield (not that they would best her), but Loki kept her mind working in ways few Aesir valued; she was always searching for double meanings to his words, and the tells to his enchantments he sometimes left in her chambers. So she relaxed into his embrace, not agreeing, but not dissenting either. And that was usually enough for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sif trained with the warriors three until the sun was high in the heavens, tanning her limbs and causing sweat to drip from her body. None of the warriors questioned the whereabouts of the second prince, as it had long passed the days when he used to train with them. When the warriors broke for lunch, much to Volstagg's delight, Sif took her leave, heading to the forest past the sparring grounds. It was about a half hour trek to the spot she sought, for she knew once she arrived she would find the second prince sprawled by the hidden lake, and surrounded with his books and scrolls.

She could tell when she was close by the concealment spell that tingled through her skin, allowing her passage but sparking her with static and filling the air with the faint current of magic. She wasn't sure if she was the only one allowed through the barrier he had erected, but as she had never seen anyone else here with Loki, she assumed so.

He was where she had presumed him to be, sitting in the shade surrounded by his books on spells and ancient history. He didn't turn to look at her, though she was sure he had detected her presence ever since she set off into the forest. However, he was more concentrated on his books than usual, his naturally stoic countenance clouded with thought. Unbuckling her sword from her waist, Sif dropped to his side, casting the weapon aside and pressing her back against his. She leaned her head back against his lean shoulder, sweeping her raven tresses up and letting them tumble down onto his chest, knowing the act would distract him from his studies. Soon enough she felt his long fingers threading through her hair, and she knew he had finally abandoned his books. Sif did not turn, however, allowing Loki to continue to weave the dark strands he had helped create. It had been many years since the day his jealousy had drove him to shearing the beautiful golden locks from her, and she had long since forgiven him for his childish prank.

"Do you wish it had remained golden?" He questioned suddenly, surprising Sif. It had long passed the days wherein she had mourned the loss of her golden locks.

"I do not," she replied assuredly, "but why do you question such things now?"

His hands stilled in her hair, and she could hear him sigh, but he did not respond. With a flick of his wrist, his books and scrolls disappeared from the glen. "I will be taking a trip tomorrow, one that will require my leave for at least a week." Surprised, Sif rolled around to sit facing him.

"Who is accompanying you? Is it official business—" Sif began, but Loki shook his head.

"I will be unaccompanied, but in no danger." Sif eyed him warily, but let the subject drop, as he clearly was not going to provide any more details of his trip. Usually he would just disappear for a fortnight, and return with a few new bruises and a new scroll or some magical artifact, and Sif would beat him for leaving her without a word, but it was the way they worked. That he should even be telling her he was leaving meant his trip was of a different nature than usual, but if he promised that he was in no danger, she would trust his word. It was not as if he was helpless. But Sif knew the toll overusing his magic could wreck upon his body, one she had seen him do many times as he simply disregarded his physical limits in favor of succeeding in whatever his journey was. So it was useless to try and avoid the anxiousness she felt about him leaving.  
Loki watched her eye him carefully, trying not to provoke her suspicion. While the journey was certainly not the most dangerous of escapades he had been a part of, it had many opportunities to go in an undesired way, and he would rather save her the worry, when he was confident enough in his charisma to charm, or magic, his way out of any situation. Besides, he was travelling to Svartálfaheimr mainly for her sake.

That night, after the whole of Asgard had feasted on the products of Thor's most recent hunt, Loki disappeared to his chambers, where the final preparations were being made for his journey. Sif found him this way, checking over his belongings for anything that might be of use. Slipping behind him and wrapping her arms around him, she spoke into his neck, her warm breath heating the cool skin exposed there. "Are you sure you don't need a doppelganger?" She asked softly, trying not to let her concern pervade her words.

On more than one occasion when Loki's journey took longer than a few days, he would leave a clone, so as his absence would not be too suspicious. While it mostly stayed in the library, it helped quell the questions servants and guards might ask as to the second prince's whereabouts. Once, when he had been gone for a particularly long stint, he had Sif walk around under his guise. Though in the short time he had been gone, she had managed to lose (or steal) half of his throwing knives, as well as convince Thor that he was thoroughly impressed with his hour-long rendition of the time he slayed a frost wyrm, and Thor had taken it upon himself to recount the tale six more times in the following weeks. Needless to say, after that, Sif was no longer considered as a doppelganger.

Loki shook his head, pulling her into him. "I shouldn't be gone long enough for anyone to notice," he said cynically, his eyes darkening for a second until Sif kicked him hard enough to shift his focus back to her, his darkened eyes narrowing to glare at her, though now they conveyed more irritation than cynicism.

"And I suppose I do not count?" she questioned indignantly, pushing him away from his preparations and towards the bed. He grinned, letting her lead him to the bed and sitting as his knees hit the edge.

"My dear, are you missing me already?" He smirked, feeding her irritation. She pushed him back, closing the space between them and meeting his mouth with hers, kissing him hard and capturing his silver tongue, tasting magic and mint. He returned her kiss with surprising vigor, their bodies joining in an adept confluence, their practiced movements tinged with the sadness of separation, and the emotion of words left unspoken.

A/N  
It's my birthday! :D Reviews would be an awesome present


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Loki was gone. The journey to Svartálfaheimr was a cumbersome one, as the Bifrost was not an option for unofficial business. Loki did not relish the thought of explaining to Heimdall what his dealings in the realm of the dwarves were. So he traversed Great Yggdrasil, slipping between the cracks in the realms and space, and trekking through Her massive branches until he reached his destination. Lacking his horned helm, Loki still bore the leather and golden armor of his more regal attire, hoping to afford himself a slightly more hospitable stay were he recognized as an Aesir prince. While the dwarven kingdom was not allies with Asgard, they remained cordial in their relations; many Aesir still sought dwarven-forged weapons and armor, as it was the most coveted in all the realms. Their forges were renowned for the best craftsmanship, and it was for these forges that Loki journeyed forth. He had a request of the four brothers, the renowned sons of Ivaldi. They were second to none in terms of skill, and Loki needed the best craftsmen to forge what he sought after. Conjuring his magic to him, he hiked to the castle's entrance, staying alert to his surroundings.

Sif was bored. This was one of the many inconveniences she dealt with during Loki's absences; she no longer had anyone to occupy her time. She had already sparred with Thor, who had left the arena with a huff after she disarmed him for the third time, muttering about shield maidens and their bad tempers. The Warriors Three had wisely retreated to the banquet halls, well accustomed to Sif's ire when Loki was missing. They chalked it up to her lack of someone to pester, as Loki was the favored target of her aggression. Hogun was perhaps the only one who could see her penchant for harassing the God of Mischief for what it really was: affection. However even the grim warrior didn't know the true depth of their fondness for each other. None of them knew the way Loki's green silk sheets were more familiar to her than her own furs; didn't know the way Loki was the only one allowed to touch her hair besides her mother. Didn't know the way Loki's eyes would always shine so brightly when she trusted her long hair to his ministrations, despite what he had done to it many years ago. Didn't know the way that it burned at his heart and reminded him not only of his failures, but also the depth of emotion he held for the Goddess of War. That she trusted him so readily was a daily tribute to the Goddess of War and her forgiveness.

The forges were not hard to find, smoke and brimstone filling the air. The guards that had met him at the entrance of the castle took the lead; guiding him to the brothers he sought. It wasn't long before they reached the entrance to a cave. Loki couldn't see inside the dark chasm, but followed diligently behind, though still wary of the dwarves that guided him. The darkness of the cave mixed with the dust and soot pervading the air made it difficult to breathe, and Loki did his best to stifle the urge to cough, always the diplomat. He did not want to provoke the dwarves' ire. Not yet, at least. Finally they reached their destination, as two soot-covered dwarves pounded on a freshly-forged sword, still glowing red from the fire, sparks flying and illuminating the dark cave as their hammers struck the glowing steel. Loki could feel the heat from the forge, and mentally cursed his idea to wear his formal leather armor, as sweat pooled on his brow and at the small of his back. "This is why I never come to Svartálfaheimr," Loki thought resentfully, putting on his best diplomatic smile and striding forward to meet the brothers.

Satisfied that the brothers would complete the items he had tasked them with, Loki left the dark cave, thankful to inhale a breath of fresh air. The perspiration had slicked back his dark hair, and the leather now chafed at his skin. The guards had left him to his own devices once he had finished his business with the brothers, so he was forced to find his own way around. Making his way back to the main village, Loki looked for a place to stay, as he planned on remaining in the dwarven realm until the brothers were done with his items. While he knew he could easily find a cave to keep him for the night, the comforts of a warm bed and hearty food were hard to pass up, and he made his way to what looked like a popular tavern among the dwarves. Loki took a place at a table in the corner, not wanting to be too auspicious. The shadows suited him better, anyways. Taking a long draw from the mead he had received, Loki listened to the conversations going on around him, always taking the opportunity to gain new intel about rumors or uprisings that could potentially be of importance to Asgard. Most of the dwarves prattled on about trivial matters, and another large portion of the clientele was there solely to become intoxicated. There was a group of dwarves, however, that, while slightly intoxicated, let the libations loosen their lips on more intriguing matters. Loki focused on them.

"Really, Brokk? I find that hard to believe!" A bearded dwarf commented, raising his bushy eyebrow.

"Aye! It be truth! There be naught which my kin and I cannot forge!" The second one bragged, lifting his hefty stein of ale to his lips. Loki smirked, knowing this to be a lie. It was widespread knowledge that the sons of Ivaldi were the best of their craft. Alcohol, of course, was the likely culprit for such a grandiose statement. Still, the dwarf's confidence intrigued him, and Loki found himself motioning to the bartender and sending more drinks the way of the two dwarves, hoping to hear more. They gladly accepted the tankards, calling over to Loki.

"Friend, join us!" the first dwarf cajoled, his ale sloshing haphazardly as he raised his mug.

Loki, sensing it would be rude to ignore the dwarf's offer, emerged from the shadows, settling into the empty seat next to the two dwarves. To say they were intoxicated would be a vast understatement, as the odor of alcohol seemed to pervade the air, mixing with their determinate lack of hygiene, it was an unholy aroma. Loki forced himself to smile in the direction of his new companions, mentally cursing himself for meddling with these loathsome creatures.

Seventeen tankards of ale, and there was not a sober person left at the table. While Loki had been drinking significantly less than the dwarves, the demanding pace they had set, and their competitive nature left Loki less than lucid. And after they had moved passed the usual jovial camaraderie, the dwarf called Brokk returned to his boasting, his friend (whose name Loki could not be bothered to remember) rolling his eyes. The dark prince smirked, taking the opportunity to finally confront the dwarf Brokk.

"Surely there must be someone that has bested you in the forge," Loki began, raising his ale to his lips.

Brokk spluttered, swinging his massive tankard to jab it at Loki, who had already defensively grabbed one of his knives strapped to his ankle. "Do not doubt me and my kin, ye of Asgard!" He shouted somewhat slurred, the mug in his hand swaying slightly. "I can best any smith from any realm!" He glared at Loki, trying his best to impress his conviction upon the trickster god.

"Then I don't suppose you would be afraid of a little wager?" Loki began slowly, luring the drunken dwarf into his snare. It would really be all too easy to con this dwarf out of some priceless treasures, simply because he could not hold his liquor.

Brokk's eyes widened, intrigued by the challenge, and sized up the God of Mischief, setting down his mug of ale, his companion eyeing him warily. "What propose ye, Asgardian?"

Loki smirked, letting his confidence color his words. "I have commissioned a few great treasures from dwarven smiths. Their makers would have me believe they are second to none. Would you prove them wrong? Or would you let their boasts go uncontested?" Loki challenged Brokk pointedly, knowing that there was no way the dwarf could let his ego be slighted.

Brokk spluttered, not anticipating such a direct challenge from one of his own race. Meeting Loki's eyes, he proclaimed loudly, "I shall best this smith—he knows not whom he faces! I shall forge treasures greater than ye could have even thought to commission!" Brokk's companion eyed him with trepidation, obviously sensing the danger that Loki presented, but unable to communicate this to his severely intoxicated friend. Loki grinned predatorily, sensing victory.

"Then your items shall be judged against mine, upon completion." Brokk nodded along, agreeing anxiously. "And if my items are proved to be superior, I will gain possession of everything." Loki continued, Brokk considering the terms laid out. Loki knew his terms were steep, but after the affront on the dwarf's ego, there was no way he could resist the challenge.

Brokk, with brows furrowed, met Loki with hard eyes. "Aye, I agree to the terms. But if I win, yer head be mine."

If it had not been for centuries of practice keeping his face a blank mask, Loki would have balked, shocked at the dwarf's demand. Of all the things to demand…but Loki was not about to go back on his deal, so sure was he of the Ivaldi brother's skills, and so great was his desire for the treasures the dwarf Brokk promised to produce. Surely this was simply the custom on Svartálfaheimr, demanding someone's head as repayment for a bet lost. Whether it was the innumerable tankards of ale that influenced him, or the promise of yet unforged treasure, Loki stuck out his hand, taking the dwarf up on his perilous bet. It was not the first time the trickster god had made bets with such dire consequences upon losing, and usually his odds were not nearly as good. He had nothing to fear from this dwarf, Brokk. Soon he would return to Asgard, arms laden with treasures, and spirit away to his lady's quarters to once again envelop her in a passionate embrace. Just a few more days.

* * *

So sorry for the wait everyone! I hope the length makes up for it. Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter, let me know how you liked this one!


	4. Chapter 4

Loki awoke with a throbbing headache, the pressure at his temples stronger than he remembered it being in centuries. It had been decades since he had imbibed that much ale, and it was obvious he would be regretting that decision for the rest of the day. Groaning softly at the intensified pain as he sat up, memories of the night before trickled back in, though it was quite obvious he would not be remembering the finer points of the evening. There had been a bar...perhaps some dwarves. Ah yes...two, three of them? Loki was having a hard time recalling the events that transgressed, but knew they would come back eventually. By his guess, he still had a few days to spend on Svartálfaheimr before the dwarf brothers finished his items and he could return home. There was no reason why he couldn't simply relax and let a few select spells try to dull the ache of his head and the churning in his gut.

Sif paced.

It had been almost a week since Loki had contacted her, and while this was not an unusual occurrence, the idea that he was alone on a less than hospitable realm chafed at her with each passing hour. She had not yet betrayed his confidence, hoping that he was simply delayed, and would return quickly with some elaborate tale. But as the days passed, it ate away at her, for it was not like him to have gone so long without at least a signal or a simple message. She would never admit to it, but Sif was worried. And unease did not sit well with her, for she was not one to wait. Action rang through her, for she is the fight, she is War; she is not Patience. But Sif trusted Loki implicitly, and waited for his signal, biding her time before she could spring into action.

It did not help that the palace is bustling with action, making arrangements for visiting dignitaries. Or someone important. Sif never cared to keep up on the gossip of the palace; that was Loki's calling. It meant only that she would have to polish her finer armor, and once again talk her dressmaidens from garbing her in silken dresses. Sif's biggest concern was that Loki would be missed at the ceremonies, for his customary spot at her side would be a glaring slight that the more temperamental of races would see as a direct insult to their company.

This thought did nothing to calm her temperament.

When Loki's spells had finally started to take effect, and the throbbing at his temples dulled to a manageable level, Loki called upon Sif, knowing she would be less than forgiving at his rather juvenile predicament.

Sif had just returned from sparring with Hogun when the mirror in her bedroom flashed, swirling with shadows and green light before the image of Loki sprang into view, looking paler than usual. From what she could see, though, he was unharmed, and that gave her leave to berate the trickster god for his extended absence.

"How is your vacation?" Sif started bitingly, working to unstrap the gauntlets from her forearms. "Have you found a dwarven bride to warm your bed yet?"

Loki rolled his eyes, Sif's barbs expected yet comforting in their regularity.

"My dear, if you miss me, you have only to come out and say so," he replied teasingly, enjoying the way her eyebrows drew together as she glared at him. Sif said nothing in response, once again returning her attention to the buckles on her vambrances, pulling the armor from her body.

"Your absence will be noticed soon," she said curtly, trying to avoid the knowing smirk on his face that would gloat at her obvious subject change.

"Will it now?" Loki asked, amused and trying to hide the smirk that adorned his face. "Surely Asgard has not fallen into ruin during my leave."

Sif sighed, not trying to hide her annoyance. "There are foreign dignitaries arriving soon. Would you insult them with your absence?"

Loki rolled his eyes, adding to Sif's irritation. "Surely they are not _that _temperamental," Loki teased, but Sif chose to ignore him, focusing again on her armor and trying to feign indifference to his teasing. Loki sighed, knowing that he had pushed her too far for now. "What would you have me do, then? I have not yet finished my business here."

"Could you not return for the day? Surely whatever matters you have with the dwarves are not that pressing," she returned, letting some of her concern filter through her voice. Perhaps the dignitaries would not notice Loki's absence, but surely the Allfather would take note, pinning another disappointment to the already large list his second son had already accrued.

Loki sat down, calculating. "Unfortunately I cannot return until tomorrow morn; the dwarves have not yet forged that which I came for." He flexed his nimble fingers, pressing the edges of his magic to see how far his boundaries reached.

Damn.

Only to Vanaheim.

"I cannot create a clone at such a far distance, Sif," and his eyes flashed, challenging her to call him out on this limitation. But she remained silent, trying to think of another way for Loki to avoid trouble. As much as he was one for mischief, she knew he still tried his best to stay in his father's good graces.

That's why she was willing to take risks for him; if it meant that he could breathe easy about his tremulous relationship with his father, then she would do it.

"What if.." she started, pausing to fully consider her offer. Was it really worth facing the wrath of the Allfather and possible disgrace in front of the foreign dignitaries just to save Loki's reputation? The answer, surprisingly, was yes. Sif knew that even as glorified as she was in Asgard; friend and battle companion of Thor, shieldmaiden and daughter of Tyr, she was still nothing compared to Loki, second-born prince of Asgard and talented sorcerer. While she had worked tirelessly to ascertain her standing among the other warriors as an equal, a blight on her reputation was surely more forgivable than one from Loki. They would simply blame any fault attributed to her on her emotions (a fact that grated on her nerves to no end), but for Loki to cause trouble was to doubt his worthiness to the throne, and was to doubt the characteristics he had inherited from his father. She heard the rumors, and knew how it bit at him, when they whispered that the trickster god did not bring honor to Odin, or had scarce similarities to him whereas Thor was almost identical.

"What if I was your doppelganger?" She offered, glancing up to take in his reaction.

Loki considered the idea for a moment, but quickly discarded it. "There must be another way," he mused, running his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. "Maybe I could simply be unwell?" He asked, knowing it to be a poor excuse for a solution.

Sif chuckled, meeting his eyes. "And when have you, perchance, fallen unwell within the past century?" She asked, knowing that he had not. Illness was extremely rare for Aesir, and while Loki was always somewhat less effervescent during the summer months, he had not been stricken with illness for at least three hundred years. "To say you were ill would draw more attention to your absence than simply saying nothing."

Loki sighed, rubbing his forehead as he recalled some rather raucous drinking songs he had joined in after much cajoling from the pub denizens. "Then we do not have many other options, now do we?"

"I could get Fandral to dress as you" Sif suggested. "Just a bit of pitch and his golden locks will be as dark as yours," Sif said jokingly, laughing as Loki glared at her.

"I cannot even begin to explain all the reasons that plan would not work," he shot back, irritated. The only thing worse would have been Sif suggesting Volstagg. _That_ insult he would not have taken lightly.

"I suppose we have no choice then," he said, exhaling slowly as Sif nodded in agreement. "Do you still have the necklace I gave you on Walpurgisnacht?" he asked. She quirked her eyebrow up questioningly before walking to her dresser, pulling out the small locked box she used to hold her most valuable possessions. An ornate comb from her mother, a small hunting knife from her father...and a beautiful silver chain that held a purple stone, which burned blue in the center like the deep heat of fire, that flickered only in the center of a flame. She pulled out the treasured piece, holding it up for Loki to see in the mirror. "If you would be so kind as to put it on," he gestured at the jewelry, and Sif rolled her eyes at his theatrics, clasping the chain behind her neck to let the pendant come to rest above her breasts.

"What does this necklace have to do with anything?" She finally questioned, her patience waning.

Loki smirked, flicking his hand as if to swat away a fly. Sif inhaled sharply as the stone began to burn, the heat spreading through her limbs rapidly. "You spelled it!" she hissed, glaring at him accusingly. "And here I thought you had simply given me a token of your affections."

Loki sighed. "I would not be able to cast magic at such a long range if I had not done so." He rubbed his forehead dejectedly. "And the magic simply connects us. It is not as if it will give you a rash of boils if you speak ill of me," he tried to smile at her, but quickly stopped as he saw her expression. He should have known it would not so easy with her. She was less than forgiving when it came to him using his magic on her without her knowledge.

He was going to pay for this when he got home.

Exasperated, he ran his hand down his face. "Please, Sif, the stone poses you no threat. This is the easiest way for me to change your appearance," he pleaded with her, hoping she would overlook the slight in favor of focusing on his predicament. Sif was silent, acquiescing, knowing that she would have ample time to punish him once he returned to Asgard.

He would remember why one did not trifle with War.

Loki twitched his fingers again, and the warmth that burned at her breast intensified. "This would be an easier process if you were naked," he said as an afterthought, and the glare that Sif sent him was almost enough to make him shudder.

The warmth from the stone once again spread through her limbs, and seemed to run through her veins until it reached her extremities, from the tips of her fingers to the soles of her feet. Sif gritted her teeth. It was not so much painful as it was...uncomfortable. To literally become Loki meant to grow another six inches, her hair shortening and features distorting until familiar green eyes stared back at her. Though it did make quite a comical sight, as what passed for Loki stood there in Sif's armor that was much too small for him, the leggings she had worn falling loose at the hips, the armor becoming more of a corset at her widened waist.

"I told you it would be easier if you were naked," Loki said, laughing, and Sif growled in return as she wrestled the armor off of her torso and struggled to pull up her leggings.

"It is not my fault you are the most unbecoming woman I have ever seen," she spat back, irritable and hurriedly trying to find a loose-fitting tunic that was not desigined for someone with breasts in mind. Suddenly, a heap of clothing shimmered into sight in the corner of her bedroom, and she spun back towards the mirror. Loki simply smiled, watching her curse at him as she stomped over to the pile of clothes, quickly pulling on one of his tunics and a pair of his leather breeches.

There was no question now: he was dead as soon as he returned.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't til sunset that Loki decided to venture out to the forge and check on the progress of his wares, and to see if he could spot one of the dwarves from the tavern the night before. While more memories of the night had returned, Loki was still having trouble recalling the exact details of the evening, along with the names of his drinking companions. He sighed. At least the Ivaldi brothers should be finishing soon.

It was not a long walk to the forges, and while Loki was still not feeling one hundred percent, the throbbing in his head had subsided considerably. Contemplating his talk with Sif, he was thankful (though he would never admit it) that she cared enough about him that she would take the time to consider his reputation among the court-and with his father. The spell he cast on her was set to wane by midnight, though, so she would not be forced to wear his visage for the entire duration of his trip. He thought of extending the time period just to irritate her, but returning home to her ire was a thought he did not particularly relish. Sighing, he made his way to the forge, the smoke emanating from the cavern thinner than it had been during his last visit, and for that he was grateful. Throwing a spell to clear his vision and filter the air, the cave was not nearly as miserable as it had once been. However, as he made it farther back into the cavern, it became clear that the Ivaldi brothers were not where he had found them the day before. Irritated, he walked farther into the forge, working his way into uncharted territory, trekking deeper into the cave until he saw another person. There was a single dwarf working at his own forge, and Loki had a sneaking suspicion that he would be entirely unhelpful without a bit of bribery.

True to form, it took four gold coins to get the dwarf to talk of his fellow blacksmiths. Once the dwarf had ascertained the gold's integrity, he looked obligingly at Loki, who tried to control the urge to use the magic that itched at his fingertips, the ancient power trying to convince him to simply spell the dwarf to talk. It was a tempting idea, but held more serious repercussions than a few lost coins did.

"Where are the brothers Ivaldi? and what of..." he searched his mind for their names "Brokk and his...companions?"

The dwarf glanced around warily before answering. "The Ivaldi brothers left a day ago. Dinnt say where they were off to. I dunno where Brokkr left off to? I saw him fer morning break and then haven't seen him since."

Loki grimaced at the news, not happy that the three dwarves whose company he sought were nowhere to be found. Likely they had taken off, his wares unfinished, his money gone.

Oh, they would see the folly of their ways once he found them; of that he was sure.

* * *

Sif was already tired of being Loki, and it had not even been an hour. The sheer amount servants that had tried to tend her as she simply walked through a  
corridor had been overwhelming, and she had retreated to Loki's quarters, thankful that Loki had made sure no servant was ever able to disturb him in his private rooms.

It was exhausting being a Prince of Asgard, and she had not even had to sit through one of Odin's meetings with Aesir who had troubles to bring to the Allfather. She couldn't imagine how Loki was able to feign interest in such boring, trivial matters.

She paced erratically around his chambers, nervous and waiting for the inevitable call to the meeting hall, where Odin would receive his guests. It was all a big show of pomp and circumstance, Sif thought, but she knew it was a minimal price to pay for peace between the two realms.

It is about an hour later, after Sif is sure that she has worn a trail in the marble floors from pacing, that a royal servant comes to fetch her. She is sure to don one of Loki's formal armor sets, though more as a show of status than a presumption for battle. She manages to avoid any of the royal family members right up until she takes her place next to Thor, trying to not smile too much, and saving only a smirk in the direction of the other prince.

It was a few moments before the emissaries arrived, lead by a soldier assigned to Heimdall's Keep. However, it was quite humorous to see such fanfare given to two small dwarves that looked to be simple blacksmiths. Surely this was a waste of the Allfather's time; of Loki's time, as well. There was no reason they required a full royal audience, though that is what they had been granted.

The two dwarves bowed, though, obviously trying not to provoke hostility with the Allfather, and announced their names and titles ceremoniously, as if they were indeed someone important from the realm of elves and dwarves. Bowing low again, they brought forth a few boxes, innately decorated, and from what Sif could tell from where she stood is that this was a gift from the realm of the dwarves. The two dwarves pulled them out as though they were made of gold, explaining as each box was opened.

"These are the items that Prince Loki has tasked us to make, Allfather, with your permission..." he trailed off, motioning to the boxes as he pulled the nearest one close to him. Odin cast a shadowed glance towards Sif before motioning for the dwarf to continue with his demonstration.

Pulling out a large golden spear, the dwarf presented the first treasure to Odin directly. "The spear Gungnir, your Highness...its aim never fails." There was a low murmur of appreciation in the court for the impressive object. Quickly pulling the next box from the other dwarf's hands, he opened it and held out a small wooden ship, which looked for all it's fine craftsmanship like a child's toy. Sif grinned, in a way she was sure Loki would.

"Skíðblaðnir, my lord, which is always wafted by favorable winds, and which can sail on air as well as water. Not only can it hold all the gods and their mounts, it can be folded up and put in one's purse."

It was much more impressive once explained, and Sif found herself intrigued as to why Loki would have these treasures made, and what else the dwarves would present. Pulling the last box from the second dwarf's waiting hands, the dwarf slowly opened the last box, and Sif had to crane her neck to see what it was the dwarf had pulled out of the box.

It took all the fortitude Sif had not to gasp aloud at the last treasure she saw.

"And for the Lady Sif, hair fabricated from gold, with the magical ability to grow on her own head."

It was too sweet a gesture, too kind, too unexpected, and Sif found herself struggling to remain unfazed by the declaration. It was such a grand gesture; one that she had no idea how to reciprocate. She had long ago grown accustomed to her new raven locks. The idea that Loki still harbored enough guilt about his actions when they were but children showed just how much each interaction they had meant to him.

It was overwhelming.

The wig was beautiful, just as golden and shining as her old locks had been, and Sif felt a pang of regret that Loki was not actually here to present her with such a fine gift; he would not get to see her surprised reaction, the shock on her face, or the pang of real emotion that passed through her eyes.

She was touched.

Odin luckily did not question the gifts or Loki's intentions, accepting them gracefully from the Ivaldi brothers, and Sif was relieved for the ease of the transaction. While she may be convincing in looks, she doubted her ability to act the part of Loki enough for the Allfather to not notice the slight.

She relaxed, sinking into her stance at the side of Thor, watching as the dwarves meticulously replaced the gifts in their respective boxes, handing them over carefully to one of Odin's guard.

Odin thanked the brothers again, praising their craftsmanship, and bidding them welcome to the realm eternal should they ever look to expand their forge.

The dwarves, while lacking the elegant prose of the Aesir, were polite enough, thanking the Allfather for his time and patience, the guards moving to escort them back to the Bifrost.

And then the doors to the throne room were thrown open by more guards, two more dwarves escorted into the throne room, and Sif looked on in confusion as the Ivaldi brothers left the palace, only to be replaced by the new arrivals.

Odin did not look pleased at the obviously unscheduled visitors, and cast his gaze upon Sif, leveling her with a steady glance that would reproof her of any mischief Loki had been the instigator of.

These dwarves looked less gentile than the two brothers, looking out challengingly into the crowd, eyes scanning through the faces until they came to rest on Sif's. The leading dwarf puffed himself up, glaring at Loki's image in cocky arrogance, the self-assurance that emanated from the dwarf sickening to Sif. There was a definitely line between confident and arrogant, and this dwarf had clearly crossed over into the latter.

Bending down in a bow that seemed almost mocking in nature, the two dwarves addressed the Allfather, introducing themselves. "My lord, I be the blacksmith Brokk, and this ere's my brother Eitri," he began, infusing his voice with a great deal of grandeur.

Sif could tell by the way Odin shifted in his throne that he was uncomfortable with his new guest's demeanor, but he let them continue, his gaze weighing heavily on the dwarves.

"We have come to present you with three treasures, the likes of which have not yet been seen by anyone. Their craftsmanship is unmatched, and they are far superior to anything that has previously been presented to you," Eitri's voice challenged, and Sif could tell that there was a conflict at the heart of this. And by the way the dwarf-Brokk-kept glancing over at her, Sif had to assume that Loki had been the cause of all of this.

She doubted this was in his plans, but then again she had no idea what his intentions were on the dwarven planet. For all she knew, this was exactly what Loki had intended.

The dwarves brought out their crafts, presenting them with a flourish that grated on Sif's nerves. The first was Gullin-börsti, an enormously fast golden boar. Next was Draupnir, a golden arm ring that dropped eight similar rings every ninth night.

The last treasure, though, was clearly the most impressive, reflected in the murmur of the crowd. The hammer Mjölnir, with the ability to control thunder, would be able to strike as firmly as desired, whatever the aim, and the hammer would never fail. If thrown at something, it would never miss, and never fly so far from his hand that it would not find its way back.

They were impressive gifts, and Sif could see how Loki would find these things worthy enough to warrant a trip to Svartálfaheimr.

The dwarf Eitri stepped forward. "Odin, we have presented you with our finest forged treasure, and now ask that you judge them against the worth of the Ivaldi brothers' gifts."

Sif's first reaction is shock, that the dwarves are so competitive they would have the Allfather settle a petty squabble over whose craftsmanship was the best. Odin obviously shared Sif's sentiments, as he looked at the dwarves with disdain. "My duties as Allfather do not include an obligation to feed your rivalry. I see no purpose in judging your craftsmanship against that of your brethren." The Allfather's voice was commanding, demanding obedience. The dwarves balked, obviously intimidated, and scrambled to explain themselves.

"Your highness, surely Prince Loki has told you of our wager," and with that, the dwarf pinned his gaze on Sif, and she tried to look on in disdain, exuding a confidence that she did not have. She had no idea what Loki had wagered these dwarves, and trying to act like she did was not something she was sure she had the skill to do.

She was not the wordsmith Loki was; she could not weave her way out of a situation with silver gilded tongue. Only silver blade.

Gaining steam, the dwarf stepped forward, only to be blocked by two of Odin's guards. "Your highness, Loki has praised the workmanship of the brothers Ivaldi, and we are here to defend our claim as the best craftsmen in all of the realms. We trust you to be a fair judge of our treasure. The gifts are all yours to keep for the betterment of the realm, but we wish for there to be a victor determined." Stepping back again, Odin shifted in his throne, clearly glaring at Loki for putting him in such an awkward predicament. It was expected that Odin would know nothing of this wager; Sif did not even know herself. But she figured if the kingdom was allowed to keep all of the items, then surely no harm would come from declaring a victor.

She wondered, distractedly, what Loki would lose if Brokk and Eitri were indeed declared victors.

Odin paused for several moments, no doubted weighing the potential consequences of either judging the items or forcing the dwarves to simply leave the realm. In the end, he motioned for the dwarves to continue, obviously going ahead with it simply to play into Loki's plans, hoping his son had a reason for this wager. That it was worth the price he might pay, whatever Odin's decision might be.

* * *

Loki paced outside of the forge, trying to decide on a course of action. He had no idea where the Ivaldi brothers could have gone to, nor the other dwarves that he had drank with the night before. While he could return home to Asgard for the evening, maybe even attend that damn ceremony Sif kept going on and on about, he figured it would be a waste to return home without his items. He had waited this long for them to be crafted, surely the brothers would return soon, and he would be able to return to Asgard laden with treasures for the kingdom, befit of Odin's gratitude, and maybe even pride. The thought alone was enough to make Loki stay, traveling back to the room he had stayed in the night before. He transported himself to the tavern he had gone to the night before, ordering a hot meal and thanking Yggdrasil that he would be home shortly, where there would be real food; not simply meat and bread. The diet was too heavy for him, and while Thor and Volstagg would have been quite at home with the dwarves, Loki preferred lighter fare, such as fresh fruits and the rare vegetable he had convinced the kitchen staff to grow.

It would be over soon. Soon, he would be able to show Sif what he had stolen from her so long ago, his repairment to an age old crime.

* * *

Brokk and Eitri had showed their wares, and while the first two had been impressive, nothing compared to the awe that the hammer Mjolnir displayed. Sif could see Thor beside her twitching with excitement, clearly hoping to get a chance to try out his father's newest prize. Odin was examining the six different treasures, Frigga at his side voicing her opinion to him when he would comment on the structure, or complexity.

It promised to be a long ordeal; one that Sif was not very patient for. She could already see the Warriors Three start to murmur, wondering what the wager could have been, and why Loki would seek to return to Sif her golden hair after so many centuries.

Sif wondered the same, but would not seek to reproof him for such a thoughtful gift, albeit misguided. Sif loved her hair, black as the night, as it set her apart from the other maidens of Asgard. No longer did she have to hear the ladies of the court wax poetic on the virtue of her golden locks. No, now she commanded praise with blade and fist.

It was tedious work, judging the items. Sif had been standing next to Thor for over an hour, and the boredom was insufferable. If she was herself, she would have been able to speak quietly with the Warriors Three, joking and cajoling each other as the decision was made. However, as Loki, she had to be a pinnacle of patience, intent on the process and interested in the outcome.

It seems like hours but in reality was probably had only been one clock mark by the time Odin has finished conversing with Frigga in hushed tones, returning to his throne. Pinning Sif with a steely gaze, Odin turned to look once again at the patient dwarves Brokk and Eitri, who, while answering all of Odin's questions and eagerly allowing him to handle the items, were respectfully silent now, waiting for the Allfather's decision.

It was something the whole court now waited on baited breath for, having taken a begrudging interest in the dwarf's claims, as well as his challenge.

Sif wondered how many of those in the crowds wished for Loki to lose the bet, if only to see him lose a fraction of his ever-present self-confidence and mischief that she knew grated on the nerves of more than a few people.

Silencing the crowds with a flick of his hand, Odin beckoned the dwarves forward again, meeting their expectant gaze. "Dwarves Brokk and Eitri, you have been well met, and your items have been forged with expert craftsmanship. That being said, the brothers Ivaldi have also presented us with quite formidable wares, and to judge any of them against each other is a crime to the art of their craftsmanship." A glance was sent to Loki. "That being said, a decision must be made, to uphold a wager made from my kin."

Odin shifted in his throne, obviously weighing the weight of his words, and the consequences his decision would bring. He was fair and just, but he was also protective of his family, and he hoped that his decision would not be damning.

But there was nothing to do to protect Loki, not when he had intertwined himself so deeply in the dwarves' affairs.

With a heavy voice, Odin set down his judgment. "I declare the winners of this contest to be the dwarves Brokk and Eitri. Let the price of the wager be paid, so that all may return to their respective realms." The last was more of a command than a request, Odin clearly tiring of dealing with the demands of the dwarves.

Brokk and Eitri grinned celebratorily, their smiles and cheers making it clear who had won in this wager. Sif sighed, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Stars and branches, please just let it be gold.

The dwarves grinned more greedily, now, their gaze on Sif as they addressed not only Odin, but also the court. "We ask only what has been wagered against us; Loki Silvertongue's head."

The collective gasp from the crowd was lost on Sif, who was trying to remember how to breathe. Thor looked at her, concern and horror mixed into the lines of his face, and she could barely look up to see the expression on Frigga, the one that she knew would break her heart the most. The Queen looked lost, stricken and clutching the side of the throne for support, her eyes desperate as she looked to Odin pleadingly for him to do something.

The King was silent, clearly taken aback from the wager's cost, and searching for an answer, a way out, an escape.

But, clearly, there was none. The Allfather had already delivered his judgment, and the price had obviously already been agreed on.

Sif could damn Loki thrice over for agreeing to such a risky wager, especially when Odin did not know what the consequences were. When _she _did not know what the consequences were.

While Sif knew that Loki had likely not known the dwarves were the foreign dignitaries she had been railing him about, she could feel her anger burning bright at knowing what a fate he had consigned her to. She was to die a loser's death, then, in a body that was not even her own.

Oh, there was no way in Helheim she would make it into Valhalla now.

Sif fisted her hands, letting the pain of her nails digging into her palm wake her up from her spiral into terror. She was War. This would not be the way she would die. She just had to think like Loki.

And therein lied the key. Loki had made this wager; surely he had had a backup plan, something arranged for if he did actually lose his wager. Loki never left loose ends; she simply had to try and think like him to find an answer.

But nothing was coming; not when Thor was reaching for her, the warriors Three shocked and crowding towards her in a display of fortitude. Odin beckoned her forward, and Sif moved slowly, in horror, as the aged king looked upon her with deep sorrow and burdening guilt.

Think Sif, think. There was no way things would end well if she simply tried to kill the dwarves, and while she knew Thor and her friends might vouch for her, Asgard would surely hear the tale of the second prince who could not keep his end of a bargain, and ended up slaughtering his debtees.

There was only thing left that Loki always had in his arsenal, and Sif prayed that she too would inherit his gift, if only for a night. His silvertongue. She needed to be Loki Liesmith, and talk her way out of a very gruesome and shameful death. It was the only way.


	6. Chapter 6

Loki ate a quiet meal, this time finding his evening distinctly lacking in dwarves, which he was perfectly fine with. Making his way back up to his room, he wondered idly how long the meeting with the officials would take Sif. He wanted to talk to her, if only to ease the tedium of being here.

Casting the same spell on the mirror, it's edges flickering green with his magical signature, Loki looked into Sif's room, hoping by some miracle that she would be there, already finished with the meeting and back at her rooms to rest, and bathe.

Yes, bathing would have been a good time to catch her.

Sighing at the empty room, Loki flicked his hand and the portal closed. He knew the assembly would likely last longer, especially if the guests had been deemed important enough to warrant a feast, or a hunt. Nothing more boring than traipsing through the woods, intent on killing a poor creature for supper, and not even being allowed to use magic to track it. Really, it was an unfair disadvantage.

Turning his thoughts over on his head, Loki sprawled across the bed he had been given in the inn, knowing he would be restless this night with thoughts of the dwarves, and Sif. Dragging his finger down the side of his forehead, Loki cast a simple sleeping spell on himself, one that would ensure he would sleep soundly through the night. Hopefully, in the morning, the dwarves would have returned, he thought sleepily. His last thought before he drifted off was of Sif in his own gold and green armor, fighting an unseen enemy.

* * *

Sif had been brought before the Allfather, the dwarves close to her side as she fought the urge to glare at them in defiance. Trying to pace her breathing and calm her nerves, she steeled herself and met the gaze of her would-be decapitators.

"Brokk, Eitri...surely there must be another price I could pay, that would satisfy both of you. I am afraid I was a bit hasty in my agreement to the wager, and while I will honor your win," Sif entreated, "I beg you to choose a different price." She hoped her desperation did not come across in her voice. It was nearly impossible to try and speak calmly, much less try and persuade the dwarves of her opinion.

It gave Sif a new respect to just how hard Loki had to work to be such a Liesmith.

But she still hated him, the insufferable wretch.

The dwarf Brokk seemed to consider her offer, but looked back at her with hardened eyes that promised no pity. "While that may be, Prince Loki, the wager was agreed upon by both parties as fair, and there were a fair number of witnesses. We are not to be held accountable for your state of inebriation the night of the wager." The dwarf seemed to draw himself up at the thought, as though he was the clear victor, what with his tolerance being higher than that of an Asgardian prince.

Sif cursed, knowing that Loki had memorized quite a few spells that would turn mead into water, none of which he had obviously used. Wonderful, now she was dead because her friend had had a bit too much to drink, and a loose tongue.

Trying to command her thoughts, she searched for something else to say, something that would convince the dwarves that her life was worth more than a petty wager.

She could try to tell them she was not truly Loki, that she was merely Sif in a powerful illusion spell, but really, who would believe her? Everyone would think that she was just trying to escape death, and without the real Loki around to back her up, it would be just another lie that Loki had spread to save himself from the blade of the dwarves.

The Allfather had his face in his hands as the palace guards moved forward to restrain her, leading her to the front of the throne room. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the dwarves, gleeful. In the other corner, there was Thor, looking for all the world lost, unable to help in this game of wordsmiths and wagers.

Forced to her knees by the guards, the dwarf stepped forward, brandishing a sword that he had most assuredly brought along especially for this occasion. Sif felt numb. She felt completely helpless. It was not like her to go down without a fight, to gracefully meet death so prematurely, but as much as her brain worked, she simply could not think of a way out of this predicament.

This was not the way War was supposed to surrender.

She prayed for a rescue that she knew would not come, for Loki had promised not to return home for a few more day's time. She let herself consider how Loki would react, when he found out about her death. The thought made her flinch. There was a darkness in his eyes, one that she was afraid would consume him in the future, and she knew if he returned home to her corpse burning in her funeral boat, he would give in to it, completely.

They would not know the joys of a life together.

The thought was a blow to the stomach.

While Sif had always been careful to hide away her involvement with the second prince, she had felt that maybe, with time, and once Thor had a bride of his own, they might become more public in their affection, if only to be able to enjoy the perks of a relationship without the censorship of the Aesir. How many times had they almost been caught pressed up against the wall of a garden, his hand tangled in her hair and the other up the side of her dress?

How many times would she have to deny the presence of a suitor, and then laugh off someone's suggestion that she pursue Thor, even while she was in Loki's presence?

Brokk tested the sharpness of his blade on the palm of his hand, grinning as he found it sufficient. The cold blade kissed her neck suddenly, the dwarf setting the blade on her shoulder casually, the blade close enough to cause a trickle of blood down her neck.

God, the memories rushed in.

Adventures with Thor and the Warriors Three, enemies fought and defeated. Her mother plaiting her hair, telling her of glorious battles her father had won. Waking up amongst green silk sheets, the sweet way Loki's fingers would dance across her knuckles at banquets, when no one was watching.

It was enough to prompt Sif to make one last, desperate plea to the dwarf. Just as the blade pulled back, readying to swing, Sif shouted out, "Wait!" With enough force for the dwarf to stall, weighing the options in his mind. "I have wagered my head against your win, true, but I have not promised you my neck. You cannot slice at that which you do not own." She said quickly, trying not to shake.

The blade lowered, slowly, and Sif could not contain her relief, her arms wrapping around herself. Odin stood, clearly demanding the dwarf comply.

"My son speaks the truth; if you still wish to acquire Loki's head, you may not harm his neck."

Sif knew it was grasping at straws, and barely a good defense at that, but thankfully the Allfather had latched onto it, determined in some way to save his son. Sif could see relief flickering in Thor's eyes, Frigga standing a bit straighter at the new circumstances.

The dwarves huddled together, talking quickly, and Sif prayed with all her might that they would not think of another way to sever her head from her body. While she did not know of any ways that did not involve harming her neck, she was sure there were some out there.

The dwarves looked dramatically less jubilant when they broke apart, though, and Sif counted that as a small victory. Glaring resentfully at Sif, they once again approached Odin. "Since we cannot separate Loki's head from his body without harming his neck, we have decided on an alternate punishment. Since we still own Loki's head, we shall put an end to his Silvertongue."

Pulling out his awl, Brokkr took a step forward to where Sif was kneeled.

"We are going to sew his mouth shut."

Sif gasped, her body involuntarily shuddering at the horror they promised.

It was a better fate than death, but barely.

Steeling herself as the dwarf walked forward with greedy eyes, she bared her teeth in a last display of defiance. Brokkr narrowed his eyes, looking back up at the Allfather. "I would require help in restraining him."

The idea of being pinned down as her mouth was sewn shut was insufferable, and Sif looked around challengingly at the palace guards, daring them to step forward and offer their assistance.

Let them rest assured, they would suffer later.

"I'll do it."

The voice that called out was pained, and Sif realized with a shock that she recognized the voice.

Thor.

He came to kneel in front of her, his eyes filled with unshed tears at the situation she had found herself in. "Loki..." he whispered, reaching out to wrap his hand around her shoulder, trying to reassure her.

It was a sweet gesture, but it was lost on Sif, who was so mired in her own panic now that reality was starting to set in.

She had endured a great number of wounds in battle. While she had quite a high pain tolerance, this was a completely different beast. Allowing someone else to sew her lips shut was a horror she had not even thought to comprehend.

Oh, the scars she would carry, once this trial was over.

Thor looked at her with the deepest of sadness, and she could see how conflicted he was in his decision. There was no way he would want a part of this horrible punishment, but he refused to let anyone else touch his brother.

Sif could see the raw emotion on her prince's face, the tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes when he kneeled next to her, clutching her shoulder.

"Oh, brother..." He whispered, and at once Sif felt like an intruder, invading on some private moment that should have been between brothers.

But it was her punishment now, not Loki's, and try as she might to distract herself from the dwarf threading his awl with a leather thong, she could not look away.

She was War, and, like it or not, she would face her trial with courage, and do her best not to cry out from the pain. There was only so much she could take, though. They were Gods, but they could bleed.

Then the dwarf's grubby hands are on her face, clutching her cheek as he brings the awl near.

And pierces her skin.

It was worse than she imagined, and there is more blood than she expected, having not suffered many wounds to the face .The leather thong is the worst of it, though, dragging through the hole the awl pierces, tearing at bared flesh and oh god it hurts how it hurts. She trembles, and the grip Thor has on her shoulder tightens. She can feel her eyes watering instinctively, though she is sure it looks like she is crying.

And perhaps she is crying, out of rage and injustice and how Loki has not saved her from this, as he ought.

The awl plunges in again, and there is more more more blood, coating her teeth and sliding down her throat, the metallic taste enough to make her gag. She tried to take a struggling breath, but only tore at the fresh laces, causing searing pain to stab at her mouth.

Her vision tunneled, and if not for the strong hand at her shoulder and now her back, she would have fallen over.

A third time, and Sif's mouth is half-closed. The laces are drawn tight, so any halting breath she draws to her lungs must be drawn through her nose. She tries desperately not to cry, so to not impede her last way to breathe.

The pain, good god, the pain.

It is worse than any wound she had suffered before. She had suffered a deep wound from her shoulder to her hip from a dark elf's blade, which took many days of Eir doing her best work to mend and close back together. She had broken nearly every bone in her body at one time or another. But nothing compared to this to, willing her body to sit through this onslaught of pain, trying not to squirm (though she was failing miserably), flinching so violently every time the dwarf brought the awl to her lips that she was sure Thor would end up pinning her to the floor.

It was almost over, she told herself, and in a distant voice Thor held her close, trembling himself as he whispered to her words of encouragement, trying to distract her from the bloody deed.

But it was no use, as the awl pierced her again, Sif let out a muffled scream, the blood overflowing in her mouth, her body arching up as the leather thong dragged its way through her flesh, aggravating an already open wound.

Death would have been easier, she thought with a sudden wave. So much quicker, more painless.

The last stitch seemed worse than the rest. Sif was done. She had nothing left, no strength left in her body as the dwarf leaned forward with his awl once again to pierce her. She collapsed against Thor, and he had to support her body as the cold metal dug through her flesh, scraping tooth and gum before exiting through more tender flesh, the quick pull of the leather thong through the hole more cruel than she could have imagined.

And then the knot was tied, and it was over.

Tears streamed down her face, and her hands fought a battle to touch, to feel for herself what had been wrought to the remains of her lips.

The blood dripped down, coating her chin and staining the leather tunic, glinting a garish color against the gold of her breastplate.

Sif was lost after that moment. The world went black as she pitched forward, and only by the quickness of Thor's reflexes was she saved from crashing unceremoniously into the floor.

* * *

When she woke, she was in Loki's room, the blood running fresh from her wounds as she tried to open her mouth unconsciously, whimpering at the pain when the leather thong reminded her of her new lacerations. A trembling hand reached up, and touched lightly at the strips of leather, her eyes stinging with tears at the pain. Blood coated her fingers when she pulled away, and the tears were real this time, as she cried at the cruel turn of fate that had been wrought upon her.

This was not her punishment, and yet she had willingly accepted, for a man that loved her.

Or so she thought.

The longer she lay quivering on the bed, staining the green sheets with dark crimson, the more she slowly realized that Loki had not come to save her, had not warned her of this very real danger.

Her mind raced to defend him, while the blood on her lips lay blame.

But Sif could not find it in her heart to blame him. Hate him, yes. But when did she not hate him, at least in some small way? Their relationship was not based on fair-weather affection. It was grouted with fist and fight, of passion and need.

Sif curled in on herself, hoping for his return.

She could not free herself.

* * *

Around midnight, as Sif trembled in an awful sleep of waking and remembering, tearing at the stitches, and dreams filled with nightmares, her body changed back to her own, her hair flowing once again to her back and her form softening and shrinking.

It hurt even worse, being in her own form. The laces shifted as she changed, and she moaned as the shift pulled them tighter in some places.

It was worse, now, knowing that it had been done to her. Her body would forever bear the tale. She had no illusions that the scars would fade away, as so many did after time.

These were too raw, too real and bloody and large.

* * *

**AN: **Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! We'll see next chapter how Loki reacts...


	7. Chapter 7

Loki woke violently with an overwhelming feeling of vertigo, a fist on the collar of his tunic that pulled until he was hanging in the air, struggling to draw a breath. He grasped at the hands on his collar, trying desperately to pull them away. Looking up suddenly, Loki was shocked to see the furiousface of the Gatekeeper staring back at him, his milky eyes more penetrative than one would think for being opaque.

What was even more terrifying was the implications of the Gatekeeper leaving his post. Loki spluttered as Heimdall threw him to the floor.

"For long have I watched you weave your lies and play your pranks, Loki Liesmith, and have held my tongue against you, for they were mostly harmless, or not ill-intentioned." His glare was chilling, even to one so hard-hearted as Loki.

"But now your treachery has hurt my sister. And you will face recompense for your deeds." Heimdall treads forward heavily, reaching down to once again Loki by the neck. Stunned, Loki does not respond. Sister?

And then his eyes widen in shock, as he recalls a very important detail from Sif's past. "Sif?" he stutters out in a panic.

Then they are being pulled, violently, from the room, their forms speeding through space to slam back into the observatory on the Rainbow Bridge, and if not for Heimdall's hold on his tunic, Loki would have fallen. The angry Gatekeeper released him, pushing him away as if to distance himself from such evil. "You will fix the wrong you have done to her, Loki Silvertongue, or I shall deliver you to Odin himself." The threat was a chilling one.

Loki scrambled to his feet, glancing back at the angry Gatekeeper before rushing down the Rainbow Bridge, off to the one person who had loved him.

Fuck, not Sif.

Never Sif.

He ran, the terror and anger feeding his footsteps until he remembered that he was still quite capable of magick; running was pointless. Transporting himself to the entrance of Sif's quarters in a flash, he threw open the doors, only to find them deserted. Striding in, he took in the state of the room; it looked as though she hadn't been there since the last morning. The bed was not yet turned down for her to sleep, and there was no sign of her anywhere.

Heimdall had been so enraged; something awful must have happened.

The panic was setting in, and Loki turned hastily back to the hallway, where he ran to Eir's hall of healing, fearing the worst. While Sif had rarely been kept there, the stubborn woman she was, he had a sinking feeling this wound would be worse.

He pushed open the heavy door with more forcefully, the thick oak panels banging against the wall, reverberating off the room.

But there was no one there; everyone had retired for the night, and the cots of the healing rooms were all empty. Loki wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. It only meant that Sif did not have a wound that needed to be treated by Eir.

She could be dead. She could be cursed. She could be trapped somewhere dangerous. All of the options ran through his head quickly, the hysteria threatening to bubble up in his throat.

He was going crazy, and he knew it would only get worse until he found her.

Transporting himself to the only other bedroom he knew Sif might be in, Loki thrust the doors to his chambers open.

And stopped.

At first..at first it didn't look so bad. Sif was curled up on his bed, still in his clothing after taking on his form. But as he moved to her, he could see the blood.

Oh, god, the blood-it was everywhere. The stain on his bed sheets had grown large enough to consume her body.

He flew to her side; he could see her trembling now, doubtless from the pain. But he couldn't-where was the wound?

Sitting gently on the side of the bed, Loki gingerly pushed the hair back from Sif's face that shielded her eyes, her body drawn up, her hands curled close to her face.

And he Saw.

Oh, god, it was so much worse than he imagined.

Her lips, oh Yggdrasil why, were sewn shut.

"God, Sif," was all he could manage before he pulled at her clawing fingers, touching her chin gently as her hazy eyes glanced up to him finally.

His stomach rolled, pitching in fury at her state, his body empathizing with pain he could only imagine. It was all he could to restrain himself from screaming out in anger, destroying everything in his chambers with a simple output of energy.

She was hurt, and Heimdall, the all-seeing guard, had blamed him.

His fingers trembling with rage and sorrow, Loki pulled the dagger from his boot, bringing it up to free Sif from her laces, but she flinched away from him, cowing under the protection of her left arm.

It broke his heart.

"Please, Sif, let me help you," he begged, holding her face tenderly. The tears poured from her eyes as she willed herself to be still, and after a few moments, Loki moved forward with his dagger, shredding the visible throngs of leather with the utmost care.

It still stabbed, though, and Sif groaned at his ministrations, the wounds being reopened again.

"Sif, you must trust me as I do this," he said quietly, and Sif could feel her body tense before relaxing at his words.

He did not deserve her trust, but she gave it anyways.

Gripping his leg as an achor while Loki worked the leather from the gaping wounds, her nails dug deep enough into his thigh to draw blood. It was a small recompense for the pain she had endured.

It was like being laced all over again. She tried to stifle the whimpers, the moans, but she was so exhausted after the initial punishment that she had nothing left to give. She had no fight left. Her body arched to his touch, deft fingers pulling at the thread that bound her, shuddering as the pain racked her body. How stricken, how pale he looked, she thought, as she tried to glance at Loki through the haze of her tears.

And finally the last lace was undone, the leather pulled out and fresh blood staining her chin. Sif opened her mouth tentatively, immediately choking out blood over the side of the bed. Loki tried to sooth, holding back her hair and rubbing her back, noticing the way her grip tightened around his thigh.

Surely, she would hate him now. The thought was terrifying in its accuracy. Loki knew that if this was indeed his fault, then he did not deserve Sif's trust any longer, much less her affection.

When she finally sat up, exhausted, she looked at him, and it was a startling difference from her usual reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears, blood covering her mouth, holes now marring her perfect lips. Loki could feel his blood turn to ice.

He would Kill.

She breathed slowly, not daring to talk as she leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. Loki clutched her closely to him, running his hands through her hair.

"Sif, what happened?" He asked quietly, not sure if he truly wanted to hear her response, but needing to know the answer. She curled into him further, and for a moment he was afraid she would fold under the weight of her memories, but she took in a halting breath and began.

"You...you lost the wager," was all she managed to say before Loki remembered furiously, his heart seizing in his chest ,the memories from the night he had been so inebriated with the dwarves. The wager that was set. The consequences.

It was his own. Damn. Fault.

Wrapping her closer to him, he cradled her body against his chest in a way that she never would have allowed, had she been well. "How did you escape death?" He asked suddenly, his eyes widening as he remembered the deadly consequences of losing his wager.

Her mouth quirked, and he swore if her lips had not been so sore she would have smirked. "You're not the only one with a Silvertongue."

Loki could have cried from the revelation that here was Sif, his Sif, facing a punishment meant for him, facing certain death, and yet she had managed to talk her way out of a beheading without betraying her true identity.

Without betraying him.

It rotted in his gut, how unworthy he was. Sure, it had always been there, but now it festered and spread, an aching sore that grew with each poke and prod.

She was the sun, moon, and stars, and he was destined to want forever from the deepest pits of Helheim.

Summoning a wet rag, Loki took to gently wiping the blood from Sif's face, careful to not prod the holes that still oozed, stubbornly refusing to scab. There was so much blood, though. Sif let him undo the blood-stained leathers of his borrowed tunic, baring her so he was able to clean her neck, the blood having dripped all the way down to her breasts.

"What are you thinking, Loki?" Came the soft whisper from Sif. She could see how dark his eyes were, mired with surely guilt and anger, a dangerous mixture. She caressed his cheek, and he looked at her, his eyebrows drawn and expression dark.

It was that he wore before going in to battle.

"I will kill them all," He said with a quiet conviction, stopping Sif's heart for a moment. She had expected anger and resentment, but not downright violence.

"Loki.." she began, before he silenced her with his lips at her ear, shushing.

"You have suffered injustly, my dear, and I would hold them accountable." He continued, his cool breath at her ear, his fingers sliding along her side, trying to either distract her from her wounds or from his words, she wasn't sure.

"Please, Loki...I have paid the price...now leave it be." But she couldn't tell if he had indeed heard her, for his lips continued to trail from her ear to her neck, distracting her.

"Sif, you must trust me; please," and she could hear the desperation in his voice, the pleading for her to still trust him, even after this mistake. She nodded, and his thumb comes to caress her lips, slowly, as they seem to grow colder and the pain numbs blissfully. Sighing in contentment, the worst of the stinging pain subsides, and Sif lets her body finally relax, her rigid limbs collapsing in Loki's arms.

She falls asleep to the sensation of Loki rocking her, her eyes closing as he whispers endless apologies, stroking her hair as he trembles at what has been done.

* * *

In the morning, Sif wakes up in her own chambers, which startles her at first; so used to the muted green and gold tones of Loki's chambers that her own crimson-shaded finery seems garish.

And then she is assaulted with the pain again, and she collapses back on her bed, moaning softly and bringing her hands up to prod at her wounds, even though she knows it will only exacerbate the pain. But the pain is not as dreadful as she expects even as she fingers the wounds, most of them scabbed over and starting to heal. Sif stumbles out of bed to the mirror in the corner of her bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse at the healing scars on her mouth.

But they are not there.

They have disappeared from her face entirely, even though Sif can still feel them with her fingers and prod them with her tongue on the inside of her mouth. Loki must have glamoured it, then, and the thought is bittersweet. Sweet, that he would care about her beauty and how she thought she looked. But Sif would have proudly born her scars for him.

Maybe it was something he would rather have hidden away; not wanting another reminder of the pain she bore on his behalf. And that was a bit selfish of him, if Sif was being honest.

But she would need to hide them, for she would not be able to answer if anyone asked her about their origin. They were too noticeable, too distinctive to the punishment Loki had supposedly endured.

* * *

Loki let his power consume, as he had never done. Back on Svartelheimr, he flew towards the mines, intent on one thing, and one thing only.

Revenge. Justice. It was one in the same.

His first instinct was to destroy everything, and everyone. That would have be satisfying, yes. But the loss of innocent life was something that still nagged at his conscience, and he placated his mind with focusing only on the four dwarves that had harmed Sif directly. The Ivaldi brothers. Brokkr. Eitri. But after traveling to the distant realm, Loki found himself focusing his anger, directing it strictly to the pursuers of the wager; Brokkr and Eitri.

He let the magick in his blood, the power that he was not supposed to wield, consume him, overtake him, and move him.

* * *

Loki watched, with distracted awareness, as he charged into the forge that housed the shocked dwarves Brokkr and Eitri, who looked at him in horror as he drew his dagger, the magic at his fingertips thick enough to be tangible, clouding the air as his fury grew. The power controlled him, and while he could only watch as his dagger slid into the flesh of the dwarves, carving and eviscerating, he did not try to stop himself, letting the memories of Sif's wounds fuel his every action.

It was a massacre, and blood coated his hands, painting his clothes as slammed the dwarves against the wall of the cave, taking his sweet time as the screams echoed off the walls of the cave. Oh, how he reveled in their screams. They would bleed ten drops of blood for every one that Sif did, and he would carve their flesh until his guilt was assuaged.

* * *

Loki's eyes opened with a start, and he sat up quickly, taking in the scene around him. There was blood everywhere, oh my god why was there-and then the head of a dwarf he recognized was at his feet, and blood was on his hands and he fought the urge to throw up. When he had let his power consume him, he did not expect to lose control, slaughtering the dwarves as if they were but livestock. It was terrifying knowledge, of what he was capable of when left unrestrained, and looking around the forge sent a chill up his spine.

It was startling, how he did not care; how he had watched and let his body utterly destroy the two dwarves, and yet he could not find it in himself to regret his actions.

This power, his revenge; it was something he could not share with anyone, not even Sif. She had enough burdens to bear. Stepping out of the cave filled with blood and his own mindless rage, Loki transported himself back to the realm Eternal, heading straight for his bath.

* * *

He finds Sif on the training grounds, after searching almost the entire castle for her. He did not expect her to be training so shortly after her-he could not bring himself to say 'accident', nor could he rightly say 'punishment'-and he worried for her, that she would collapse.

Loki strode toward her quickly as she attacked a practice dummy with more enthusiasm than she normally would. Sweat streamed down her face, and he could only imagine how badly that must aggravated her wounds. "Sif.." He begins, before a dagger flies at him, and he narrowly dodges it by tucking into a roll on the ground. "What the he..." He trails off as she lunges at him, and he has just enough time to grab a sword that has been tossed aside on the ground to parry her blow, barely able to bear the weight of her sword and her body as she leans into him, trapped on the ground as he is.

Her sword nears, and Loki can feel the exertion exhausting him, the sweat already dripping from his body. "Sif, what in Helheim is going on?" He wheezes, trying not to let her sword get any closer. Her eyes narrow at him, her glare chilling.

"Fight me," she growls, and does not relent, and Loki is forced to use a knee to the abdomen to dislodge her from above him. Hissing, he clambers to her feet as he does the same, pulling at the daggers that he has hidden in his tunic at all times. He doesn't have time to reject her command, barely has time to think as she twirls at him with her sword, nicking him in the shoulder before he retreats from her reach.

This is War, he thought, not Sif. It was a halting knowledge, for he had only seen this in her when they were in battle against the toughest of opponents. She would kill him if he did not fight back.

Damn it all.

Her sword sliced again, coming too close to his face for comfort, and he let fly a barrage of daggers at her, regretting every single one. But she was able to dodge each one, speed and agility built up over centuries of experience, and still drove onwards, trying to catch him off guard. Leaping out of her reach, Loki hoisted the sword he had grabbed to chest level. It felt awkward, fighting with a sword instead of daggers or magick, but it was all he had in the moment, having spent his daggers, and he refused to use magick on her.

He was not so far gone that he would try to spell her. It could have drastic reverberations that he did not intend.

And she would Slaughter him.

So they fought, with tooth and nail, until they each dripped blood and sweat and tears. In the end, Loki had channeled his anger and frustration at the whole situation into each blade swing, and as the metal clashed back and forth, it was almost cathartic, his mind letting instinct and training take over instead of analyzing every single movement. She must have known how it had helped him, for she finally let her sword drop, following it to the ground and collapsing into the soft grass outside of the practice ring. Loki, caught off guard, dutifully followed suit, letting his abused sword slip from his grasp as he stumbled over to where she lay, collapsing next to her. They lay there in silence for a few moments, their gasps and the heaving of their chests filling the space where words usually would. Sif turned to look at him, grasping his bruised palm with her own. "We're okay, Loki," she said quietly, staring at him with a quiet intensity that took him aback. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, ignoring the bubble of what he had done on Svartelheimr come up and ruin the moment. He shoved that down. Nodding, he brought the trembling warrior close, his lips upon her forehead as she curled into him. They lay like that for hours, and for once, Loki did not care if anyone happened upon them. Let them see. His warrior was here with him, had forgiven him, and that was enough.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you've enjoyed the story. I am sad to end it. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought :) If you're looking for more Loki/Sif check out my stories 'Aflame' and 'Hope in Silence'. I plan on writing more in the future :)


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